


Better Or For Worse

by dul_cin_ea



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Other, doctor_donna secret santa 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dul_cin_ea/pseuds/dul_cin_ea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>misswitch requested: "Post JE, 10.5 ends up with a mind-wiped Donna and helps her find her awesomeness again. A gradual romance sort of thing. Happy ending, humor. No angst, or pining for Rose."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Or For Worse

When he regains consciousness Handy notices two things. 

The first thing he notices is that he’s developing an ingrowing toenail. It’s moderately alarming as he’s never had one before, and he takes a mental note to ask Jackie if she can recommend a general practitioner.

The second thing he notices is that he’s naked, and lying face first in a patch of briza media (grass). Which, while his memory is still slightly fuzzy on the matter, means something must have gone very wrong with the transportation mechanism he was looking at. Well, touching. Well, fixing. Well, he’d been playing around with it. A bit. 

Rose had warned him about touching things at Torchwood. And he probably should have paid more attention. But they were very shiny, and really all he wanted to do was see if he could help by recalibrating the time fields and switching a few wires--

That’s where his memory gets somewhat wibbly. Handy sits up and takes in his surroundings. He appears to be in someone’s back garden. With any luck, he just threw himself a few hundred metres away from Torchwood headquarters. He’s not sure why his clothes had to get thrown off in the process, but he’s getting well used to that sort of thing happening.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” a voice asks. 

Handy turns his head. He sees someone he remembers--Sylvia--clutching a washing basket protectively in front of herself and glaring at him. 

“And why in god’s name aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“Oh, hello Mrs Noble.” Handy rubs a hand through his hair, confused. “I’m not exactly sure, actually. I uh, was somewhere, and then I was here.”

She throws a towel at him and he catches it with his face. 

“Well you can take yourself somewhere else, right now. You can’t keep hanging around, Doctor. You said it yourself, she‘ll get hurt if she remembers.”

“Sylvia,” Handy says slowly, his head starting to throb with questions. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are! You didn’t wipe my memory, you fool. Though sometimes I w--”

“No, that’s wrong.” Handy stands up and wraps the towel around his waist. “You don’t know me in this universe. We’ve never met. There was no Doctor here, at least not until me.”

“What are you talking about, you stupid man?” Sylvia asks, looking at him like he’s completely lost his marbles. “You were here just a few months ago, sitting right inside, on my couch, telling me my daughter’s brain would burn up if she ever remembered anything about her time with you.” 

She’s talking about Donna, Handy thinks. 

Doctor Donna. The metacrisis.

Something clicks over in Handy’s brain and everything begins to piece together. 

“Sylvia, tell me, have you ever head of Vitex?”

Sylvia frowns and shakes her head.

“That’s it!” Handy shouts with such force Sylvia jumps and he almost loses his towel. “I’ve switched universes!”

“You what?”

“But how could this happen?” Handy says, waving his hands animatedly. “This is not supposed to happen, not unless there has been some sort of transdimensional fracture that--” Handy bolts suddenly, running past Sylvia and inside the house. She shouts something after him but he keeps on; running through the kitchen, into the living room, and switching on the television.

There is a cooking show on, with a young man who seems to be cursing at some teenagers. Handy switches the channel again, and again, and again. There are no reports of an impending apocalypse. Everything, for all intents and purposes, appears to be normal.

Handy shakes his head disbelievingly. “But this is.. This is…” 

“Inconceivable!” says the little balding man on the telly.

Handy double-takes, and then leans in close to the screen. “Hello?”

Sylvia turns the television off. She’s glaring at him again. “You’ve got to leave.”

“I think the man in the television may be trying to talk to me,” Handy says seriously.

Sylvia rolls her eyes. "It's just a movie, everyone knows that. Get out," she says the last more insistently. "She'll be home soon."

Handy nods and gets to his feet, his head spinning. “Right. Yes, of course. Can I take this towel? I have no clothes.”

Sylvia makes a face like she‘s just developed a particularly severe headache. “Dad’s room is down the hall. You can borrow some of his clothes, but then you--” 

“I know, I know,” Handy says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I have to leave.”

 

Two hours later, Sarah Jane Smith opens her front door to find a very dishevelled Handy, clad in a woollen jumper much too big for him and slacks that barely cover his ankles, on her doorstep. 

“Hello!” Handy says, waving. “I took the Tube!” 

 

“You just woke up here?” Sarah Jane asks, handing him a cup of tea and sitting opposite him at her dinner table. Luke is sitting the next chair along, watching him warily.

“Yes.”

“In Donna Noble’s back garden?”

“Yes.” Handy leans down over his cup of tea and inhales. It smells like Helianthus and Apis mellifera.

“And you have no idea how to get back?”

“None at all,” Handy says, then directs his attention to Luke. “Tea really is nice isn’t it? And it comes in so many flavours. Humans really are brilliant at flavours. Just wait til you discover Bicfin sap. You lot are going to go absolutely bonkers over that stuff.”

Luke looks slightly more interested. 

“Doct-- I mean, um,” Sarah Jane pauses. ‘What should I--?”

“Everyone just calls me Handy. You can too if you like.”

Luke starts to laugh. “Oh, I get it, that‘s funny. Because you were generated from the Doctor’s hand. It’s a play on words.”

Handy's mouth falls open slightly. “You know, I never thought of it like that. That’s brilliant. Aren’t you clever!”

“Handy,” Sarah Jane says. “You could call the Doctor. I have his number. He could help, couldn’t he?”

Handy ponders that for a moment, sipping his tea. “We have the same brain,” he says finally. “If I can’t work it out then he can’t either. It’s probably best for me to just hang around and make the most of the current situation, see if an answer doesn’t come to me that way. Pass the sugar please, Luke.”

 

Sleep is still something of a novelty, and sleepovers even more so. 

Handy is allocated Luke’s excellent trundle bed on the floor of his room for the night. The bed is quite small, and Handy’s feet stick out at the end, but there are some spaceships on the duvet cover which he peruses thoughtfully. 

Sarah Jane tucks them both in and tells him they’ll work out a more permanent solution tomorrow. She only has to come back once during the night to tell them to go to sleep and stop trying to build a transmat out of Luke’s alarm clock.

 

In the morning it’s Saturday, and the sun is out. Luke and Sarah Jane are visiting their neighbours, so Handy heads out for an aimless wander or two. He intends to take a look around, maybe go down to the botanical gardens, watch the crowds. He does that a lot these days; he misses the travelling, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get sick of humans. 

Somehow though, Handy skips all that and ends up in Chiswick, wandering not-quite-so aimlessly in the direction of Donna’s house. He wants to see her again, just for a minute. It‘s necessary really; it was her garden he’d landed in, and there was probably some reason for that he hasn’t worked out yet. He’s going to have to talk his way past Sylvia of course, which won’t be easy, but he’ll think of something. Handy’s good at thinking up lies; it’s a necessity in this kind of job. Not that you can brag about being a good liar on this planet, it just makes people twitchy. 

Wilfred opens their front door, and looks only slightly surprised to see him. Sylvia must have told him about the incident in their garden yesterday. 

“That’s my favourite jumper,” he says and Handy nods awkwardly. In hindsight, he probably should have worn something different, but he’d tried on one of Luke’s Transformers t-shirts and it was too tight and hadn’t covered his stomach at all.

“Yes, it’s lovely,” Handy says carefully. “Is Donna here?” 

“She’s just gone round the shops,” Wilfred says. “We’re out of milk.”

“Oh.” Handy nods. “Will she be back soon?”

Wilfred gives him a long, hard look that makes Handy nervous.

“Are you here to fix her, Doctor?” Wilfred asks finally.

Handy shakes his head, fighting the urge to run. On most planets, at this point he usually runs.

“Then why are you here?”

“Well, you see, it‘s that-- I sort of...” Handy shrugs, and answers honestly. “ …Miss her.”

Wilfred’s expression softens for a moment but then, just as quickly, it’s gone again.

“If you put her in danger--”

“I won’t,” Handy says earnestly, putting his hand on his heart. (His lone, completely useless heart.) “I just --”

“Gramps, what have I said about talking to religious nuts?” a familiar voice cuts in, bellowing across the street. “Listen, mate, we’re not interesting in finding Jesus or shouting at gays or whatever it is you lot do these days.”

“He’s not a religious nut, love. Just a friend.” 

Handy turns around slowly, open-mouthed. Donna is walking up the pathway toward him, not looking even slightly embarrassed by the misdirected diatribe. It’s only been a few months since he saw her back at Bad Wolf Bay, but she looks different. Her hair is cut shorter and hangs, curling, at her shoulders. There are a few more freckles on her nose, like she’s been in the sun.

“Right, of course." She looks at him for a moment, narrowing her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I’ve forgotten your name--which one are you?”

“Handy,” he says, holding out his hand. “Handy, um…” he panics, as he’d never thought to think up a good last name. “Handy Sm- Space…man”

Wilfred’s eyes flick in his direction, and Handy cringes internally.

“Handy Spaceman?” Donna says incredulously, giving his hand a quick shake. “Your parents had a sense of humour, did they? Got a brother named Major Tom by any chance?"

“Um,” Handy falters; it’s an oddly specific question. “I don’t think so.”

Donna laughs at this, so Handy assumes he must have answered correctly. He smiles back at her, and resists the urge to go in for a hug.

“Well, are you coming in?” Donna asks, slipping past Wilfred and heading inside. “Or are you both going to stand on the doorstep all day?”

Wilfred shakes his head at him, but Handy just pretends not to notice and follows Donna inside. 

 

It turns out that Wilfred is pretty good at telling lies too. He tells Donna that Handy is his tax accountant, and that they’re both interested in astronomy so they catch up from time to time for a chat. It’s much more believable (if slightly less exciting) than the story he was going to tell about being a horse wrangler.

Sylvia is out, which is lucky, all things considered. Donna, for her part, looks moderately interested in the conversation as she chews her cereal. Handy does his best not to stare at her, but it’s hard. He feels much better being around her, sort of lighter. He’d never expected to see her again, and it feels a bit like if lets her out of his sight this time around, she might disappear for good. Which is probably why he asks her out for dinner.

“What?” Donna says, a bit of milk dribbling over her bottom lip.

“You know, food, drink, good conversation?” Handy squeaks, as he looks from Wilfred to Donna. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Donna eyes him for a second suspiciously, and then turns on Wilfred. “You having me on? Are you trying to set up me up with your friends now?” She drops her spoon into the bowl. “Do you think I’m so pathetic that I can’t get myself a date, is that it?”

“I’m as surprised as you are, sweetheart,” Wilfred says. If the look he's shooting Handy is any indication, he means it. Handy shrinks back slightly in his chair.

Donna turns to Handy and points her finger at him. “Just because I live with my mum and Gramps doesn’t mean I go in for pity dates with any randy bloke who asks.”

"I wasn't--I never--" Handy splutters. “I just wanted to talk to you some more, that’s all. As friends.”

“Oh.” Donna shrugs. “All right then.”

Handy beams. “How about tomorrow?”

“Steady on,” Donna says with a small, puzzled grin. She reaches across the table for her diary and flips it open. “I’m free Tuesday, how’s that?”

 

The next day Handy is sitting on the couch, eating crisps and watching Terminator II with Luke, when another friend shows up.

“Martha!” Handy shouts in delight, jumping up from his seat with such force it knocks the bowl of crisps off the couch. He pulls her into an extra tight hug.

“So good to see you again, Doctor!” Martha grins against his ear.

“Handy,” Luke says, rescuing a crisp from the floor and popping it into his mouth. “He’s calling himself Handy now.”

“Handy,” Martha repeats, with a giggle. “Perfect!”

“What are you doing here?” Handy asks. “Were you visiting Sarah Jane?”

“She called me, actually. She thought it might be a good idea for me to check you out, seeing as how you‘re switching entire dimensions these days.”

“Oh, I’m fine, me, brilliant really,” Handy grins. “Except for the terribly inconvenient one heart thing, of course. How are you?”

“I’m great, UNIT is keeping me busy.”

“And Tom? Have you had the wedding yet? Am I invited? It’s been so long since I‘ve been to a wedding! A real one I mean, not all those incidental weddings.” 

“Absolutely,“ Martha says with a laugh, and holds up her stethoscope. “On one condition.”

Handy pouts, but sits back down on the couch and rolls up his top in assent.

“Aren’t you cold wearing that little vest?” Martha says, pressing the stethoscope against his chest. 

“It was the only thing in Sarah Jane’s cupboard that fit me,” Handy replies, distracted by something exploding on the telly.

Aside from slightly high blood pressure, Handy’s in great health. When she’s done prodding him, Martha packs up her kit and sits next to him on the couch to watch the rest of Terminator II. She doesn’t even seem to mind that he and Luke keep pointing out all the technical and gravitational impossibilities. When the credits roll, Handy starts to get to his feet, but Martha puts a hand on his knee and stills him.

“You’ve been to see her,” she says. Luke seems to notice the change of tone in the conversation and quietly leaves the room.

Handy turns to face Martha and nods. “Haven’t you?”

Martha shakes her head. Her eyes look a little shiny. “I can’t. I’m too scared I’ll say the wrong thing, or she’ll recognise me; I can’t risk it.”

Handy swallows, something cold pooling in the bottom of his stomach. “Do you think I’m being selfish?”

“A little,” Martha says bluntly, and Handy knows she’s right, but he can’t bring himself to meet her gaze. 

“It’s funny,” he says slowly. “When it happened, before I switched dimensions. I had been thinking about her and then I felt -- it sounds insane, but it was almost like I heard her.” Handy puts his hand lightly, absently against his chest. “Like she was calling out. But she couldn’t have possibly been, could she? She doesn’t remember anything from before; she doesn’t need me, does she?”

Martha pats his knee gently. “You landed in her garden. Maybe you need each other.”

 

 

On Monday, Handy goes shopping with Sarah Jane for some clothes. He involuntarily whimpers when he uses Sarah Jane’s sonic lipstick on the ATM, which makes her look a bit embarrassed, especially when he explains loudly that he just misses sonic things, that‘s all. 

It’s a bit odd going shopping, really, as Handy had just utilised Pete’s hand me downs in Rose’s universe. He finds he really has no idea what an accountant would wear to dinner, so he sticks to what he knows; suits and sneakers. He finds a particularly nice pale purple suit with a white cummerbund, and a stripy scarf that he quite likes. When he shows Sarah Jane she looks at him for a long moment and asks how much of him, exactly, is made up of The Doctor.

“Part Doctor, part Donna,” Handy says. “About a sixty-forty split.”

“I see,” Sarah says, with a small smile. “Well, purple certainly brings out your eyes.”

“Really?” asks Handy, delightedly. He’s good at shopping. He’s good at everything. 

 

Donna arrives at the restaurant at ten past six. She’s wearing a suit too, her hair is pulled back, and she looks flustered.

“Sorry I’m late, “ she says, sitting down opposite him. “Got held up at work, upper management at this place is hopeless. I ask what GSM they want their tender printed on and they look at me like I’m speaking bloody Latin.”

“Veni, vidi, vici!” Handy chimes in, unthinkingly.

Donna gives him a strange look and a surge of panic shudders through Handy‘s body. He mentally berates himself for being so stupid. Two seconds in and he’s already precariously close to endangering Donna‘s life. He should have never gone back to see her, he should have just stayed away. He should have--

“My Dad used to say that all the time,” she says. “You ever meet him?”

Handy blinks slowly and pulls the menu up in front of his mouth. “Once, sort of. Should we order?”

“God yes, I’m starving,” Donna says, pouring herself a glass of water and inclining her head in his direction slightly. “Nice scarf.”

They chat lightly throughout the entrees. Donna’s as easy to talk to as ever, but Handy has to make a lot of things up, be careful not to make it obvious how much he already knows about her, and also try not to stare. The last one is the hardest and she catches him at least once, watching attentively while she sips her soup.

“Have I got something on my face?” she asks, in that tone that he knows means he’s one wrong word away from a slap.

“No, I--It’s just, you look lovely. With your hair like that. Up, I mean. How do you make it do that?”

“It’s a pony tail,” Donna says, dryly. “I use an elastic band.”

“Brilliant,” Handy says, taking a sip from his spoon and suppressing the urge to gag. 

“How’s your soup?” Donna asks, a small grin curling her lips.

Handy smiles. “Terrible. And yours?”

“Tastes like mashed up peas and lemons, made in a boot,” Donna says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “How about we ditch this place and go find something edible?”

Handy stands up. “Excellent idea. After you, Miss Noble.”

They buy chips, and meander through the city streets and along the Thames. Handy’s gaze flicks occasionally to the barrier gates and an odd feeling fills up his chest. It feels suddenly, glaringly, unfair that he can remember that Christmas Eve, the events and everything along with them, and she can’t.

“So what you’re saying is,” Donna says, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re an accountant who flats with a woman that you are not related to or dating, and her adopted son?“ 

“I’m a retired accountant,” Handy corrects. He’d decided to drop the accountant façade after Luke had pointed out that he knew absolutely nothing about the specifics of accounting. And partially because he was truly attempting to find some temporary employment, so he could contribute to the Smith household without constantly stealing from ATMs. You can't fly under the radar for very long doing things like that. Especially if you didn't have a TARDIS to escape in.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be retired?” Donna asks, proffering the chips.

Handy takes one. “Change of career,“ he says quickly. “I have an interview at Topshop tomorrow.” He stops short of telling her he’s not ever had an interview and has no idea what you’re supposed to do in them.

“You’re retiring from accounting to become a clerk at Topshop?” Donna asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” Donna says, seriously. “It’s just different.”

“I’m one of a kind.” Handy nods.

Donna smirks. “Yeah, I’m noticing that.”

Handy open his mouth to say something else, but he glimpses something in the corner of his eye, and he stops dead.

“Did you see that?”

“Did I see what?”

“There was… A thing.” Handy looks up, scanning the night sky.

“Oh right, a thing.” Donna says. “That’s specific. Look, there’s a thing. And another thing down there shaped like a foot. Oh there we go, it’s my foot.” 

“There!” Handy says, spotting it again and stumbling forward gleefully. A ball of red light shooting across the sky like a comet, only it moves much faster, dipping, swirling and occasionally disappearing for seconds at a time. It’s utterly dazzling.

“Is that fireworks or something?” Donna asks.

“I don’t think--Oh, would you look at that!” Handy exclaims, as the light does a particularly impressive somersault through the air. He’s positively thrumming with delight at the show, when the light abruptly flashes bright, plunges straight downwards and is gone.

“Wait, what? Hang on,” Handy says, starting to run in the same direction it disappeared. He hears Donna yell and then his knees hit something hard and the next thing he knows he’s on the ground.

He lies there, head throbbing, until Donna moves into his line of vision, peering down at him. She appears to be laughing.

“Oh my god,” Donna says, in between bursts of laughter, “That was one of the funniest things I have seen. Top ten, easy.”

Handy grimaces. “It’s not that funny.” 

“I just saw you run into and then flip over a park bench, it’s funny from where I‘m standing.” 

“I’m fine, by the way,” he says, somewhat sullenly.

“Oh, come here,” Donna says, holding out her hand. She’s obviously trying to stifle the laughter, but a few hiccup-like noises escape as she pulls him to his feet and helps dust him off. “You alright then?” she asks.

“No permanent damage,” Handy says with a reassuring smile.

“It’s lucky you fell on your face, really.”

Handy wrinkles his nose. “Are you always this polite to people you’ve just met?”

“Not at all. I must like you,” Donna says, and links her arm through his. 

Handy's throat feels tight and dry all of a sudden. He wants to tell her how much he’s missed this; how much he’s missed being her friend, but the best he can do is grin and tighten his grip on her arm.

After some more wandering and making vague promises to meet up again, Handy sees Donna into a cab, then makes his way back to Bannerman Avenue.

The street is very quiet at this time of night, but Handy’s busy thinking about Donna and the lights and his interview tomorrow, so he doesn’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late. A hand grabs the back of his shirt, and pulls him into a side street so violently that he stumbles and almost topples them both. When he’s righted himself, he looks at his attacker.

“You!”

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” The Doctor asks him angrily. “How could you be so…” He waves his arms around a bit. “...So stupid?” 

Handy frowns at him. “Well, I got your Time Lord brain, so we’re about the same level of stupid, technically.”

“Don’t even start,” the Doctor growls.

“How did you know I was here? Where‘s the TARDIS?”

“Martha rang me. And the TARDIS is just around the co-- that’s not the point! The point is, what are you doing here?”

“I got zapped here.”

“Yes, Martha told me that part. How?”

Handy shrugs. “I don’t know, it just happened, I woke up here.”

The Doctor sighs and rubs his hands through his hair. “You can’t continue to see Donna. It’s too dangerous for her.” 

Handy gets that uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach again. “I won’t let her get hurt.”

“You can’t make that guarantee, anything could set her off!”

“She’s my friend!”

"You-- you barely know her,” the Doctor yells suddenly. “You're a reproduction, you're nothing--she was my friend!"

“How’s the travelling?” Handy asks coldly. 

“What?”

“You know. All of time and space, how’s that suiting you?”

The Doctor just stares at him, so Handy continues.

“That feeling you get when you’re about to walk out of the TARDIS to a new place for the first time? The anticipation and happiness; that sense that anything could happen. It’s like that for me when I’m around Donna.”

The Doctor gets a dark expression on his face that Handy doesn’t recognise and can’t quite work out, which is odd, considering he has the exact same face.

“What about Rose?” the Doctor asks tiredly.

Handy folds his arms across his chest. “She dumped me. She said without the travelling and world-saving, all my shouting and jumping about was just annoying.”

The Doctor stares at him open-mouthed and blinks. “Right,” he says finally, turning on his heel and stomping away from Handy, back down the side street and into the darkness. “Right. Just, brilliant!”

Handy stands and waits for the familiar sound of whirring engines to subside before he keeps walking. 

 

When Handy wakes up the next morning someone is leaning over him and he yelps in fright.

“Did you give your friend my number?” Luke asks.

Handy rubs his eyes, head still heavy with sleep “Sorry, what?”

“There’s a message on here,” Luke explains, holding up his mobile. “It says ‘Hi Handy, good luck with your interview today mate, Donna. PS. Try not to fall on your face‘.” Luke smiles at Handy. “She spelled ‘mate’ with the letter m and the number eight.”

“Oh right, yes,” Handy says. “Thank you. I don’t have a phone device myself so I just, you know.”

Luke gives him the phone, and stands up. “You can have it. I’ll just make myself another one.”

 

The interview goes badly, to say the least. Apparently humans don’t like it when you answer all their questions by telling them how much cleverer you are than them. After five minutes they inform Handy that he’s overqualified and show him out. He wanders around the shops for a bit before he gives in and rings Donna.

“I fell on my face,” Handy says. “Metaphorically.”

Donna laughs. “That bad, was it? Never mind then, the next one will be-- hang on can you hold a sec, I’ve got another call coming through.”

Handy hums along with the hold music (Frederic Chopin, Etude in F minor; he’d actually helped compose this particular piece by accident. Long story), 'til Donna gets back on the line.

“Handy, I’m busy at the moment, but if you want to drown your sorrows tonight I know a good pub that does happy hour.”

Handy grins delightedly into the phone, and they organise to meet after she’s finished work. No use telling Donna alcohol has no effect on him, Handy thinks, it’s as good an excuse as any to see her again.

 

The problem is, as Handy finds out after four (or was it five?) pints of lager, alcohol when he had a completely time lord physiology had no effect on him. But now that he’s part human, it’s an entirely different story.

“You know, Donna,” Handy whispers conspiratorially, eyes wide with revelation. “I think I might be slightly inebriated.”

Donna nods over her glass of wine. “Should have known you’d be a lightweight. Scrawny, thin streak like you; it’s got no place to go but your head.”

“I’m not scrawny I’m lithe, like a--like a panther or a--wait a minute. Did you just call me big-headed?”

Donna snorts. “Come on then, Panther Boy. Let’s call it a night while you can still walk.”

Handy nods and slides off his barstool, only to promptly stagger sideways.

“I spoke too soon, obviously,” Donna says, grabbing his elbow to steady him. He smiles manically at her, and slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Donna Noble!” Handy exclaims as they leave the pub, his words slurring together just slightly. “You’re so Donna. You’re so brilliant and clever and… and ginger!”

Donna gives him an amused look. “Well, you got the last one right.”

Handy stops in his tracks and turns to face her properly. “No, really Donna, really, listen. It’s important that you know how special you are.”

“Thanks for the motivational speech, Doctor Phil, but I’m ju--”

“Help! Someone help us!”

Handy and Donna both look up in alarm. The cries for help are coming from two young girls just down the street from them. Running across the opposite side of the street is a very short man in a balaclava. One of the girls points frantically at him. “He took our bags!” 

Handy immediately snaps into action, but his limbs are still thick with alcohol, so while he intends to run after the bag thief, he actually stumbles and slips on the footpath and falls sideways into a hedge. He looks up just in time to see Donna dart past, and by the time he’s untangled and freed himself from the foliage, she’s already thirty or so meters down the road, and has the man in the balaclava on his stomach, pinned expertly to the cement. The teenage girls have their handbags back and are thanking her effusively.

“Police are on their way,” Donna says to Handy, when he finally catches up. “Nice work back there with the shrub.” 

“How…?“ Handy gestures at the guy pinned underneath her. “…How?”

“I had a boyfriend who was a wrestler at school,” Donna says, as if that explains everything.

Handy nods and then vomits on his sneakers.

 

The next day Handy has the first and worst hangover of his life, and spends it curled up on his trundle bed, cursing and whining intermittently. Sarah Jane brings him some paracetamol and lemonade with a small, knowing smile. Handy has a vague memory of Donna dropping him off and speaking to Sarah Jane, but he can’t for the life of him remember what she said, and the shame of utterly failing to save the day and regurgitating his dinner in front of her stops him from ringing her to ask.

 

Handy plays games on Luke’s computer for most of Thursday, but they are stupid games, made by stupid humans, why is why he keeps dying, and anyway he doesn’t even care.

 

When Donna rings on Friday, the shame is still lingering a little too strong, and Handy doesn’t answer the phone.

 

On Saturday morning, Luke asks Handy if he wants to go to the zoo. As that seems like an interesting, sedate activity Handy agrees. Sarah Jane drops them off out the front with a packed lunch, and Luke loiters there for a bit, fiddling with his new phone.

“Are we going in?” Handy asks, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He can hear squawking and howling and all sort of other animal noises, and he’s getting really very excited.

Luke nods. “As soon as Donna gets here.”

Handy stops bouncing. “Donna’s coming?”

“Yes, I invited her,” Luke says. “I saw that you had some apprehension about seeing her again after you got intoxicated and threw up on yourself, so I conferred with Mum and we decided that you seeing her again in an alcohol-prohibited area would fix things. Besides, I really wanted to go to the zoo and Clyde wouldn’t go with me because he says it’s for little kids and special schools.”

“Oh, well.” Handy shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“You should know that I’ve told her my name is Optimus. So that I don’t trigger any memories and accidentally kill her.” Luke glances up at him. “It’s like a code name.”

“Good one.” Handy nods.

“Oi, boys. Over here!” Donna yells from the entrance gates. Handy looks over at her; she catches his gaze, grins, and winks, making any and all nervousness he might have had about her not wanting to be his friend anymore slip away.

The zoo, meanwhile, is brilliant. Handy and Luke almost fall over each other going excitedly from one enclosure to the next, while Donna trails after them, alternately laughing and rolling her eyes. When they get to the big cats enclosure, Donna points to a panther and says, “Look Handy, it’s one of your people.”

Luke looks at him, confused, and Handy shakes his head slightly and tries not to look misty-eyed or talk about how he‘s all alone in the universe. 

“Oh, by the way,” Donna says, fiddling with her phone. “Mum said to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Handy swallows. “Sylvia wants me to come to dinner?”

“Yeah,” Donna says, nodding but not looking up . “I guess she thinks we’re some sort of item and wants to suss you out.”

Handy swallows again, mouth suddenly very dry.

Donna puts her phone back in her pocket. “Don’t look at me like that, I told her there‘s no way that‘s going to happen, but she insisted.”

Handy ponders this for a moment. “You seem very certain about that. What if we were the last two people in existence, would it happen then?”

“Are you going to come or not?” Donna asks, ignoring his hypothetical.

”Yes, yes, fine,” Handy says as they walk on. Something catches his eye, and he smiles widely. “Oh, look! A little shop!”

“What?” Donna asks.

“He loves the little shop,” Luke explains, looking embarrassed. Handy ignores him and jogs over to it, only to be denied entry by a very tall police officer blocking the door. Now that he’s close enough he can see the tape up all over the place, and various crime investigation officers walking around inside.

“What’s happened?” he asks, but the officer gives him a droll look, and doesn’t answer. Luke and Donna have caught up now too, and peer around him.

“Oh my god, is that blood?” Donna asks, horrified. 

Handy frowns and then reaches out and takes Donna and Luke’s hands. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s a sombre note to end the day on, and Handy knows he’s not the only one a little unnerved by it. He and Luke see Donna all the way back to her driveway, before heading back to Ealing. At home they find Sarah Jane in the attic playing chess with Mr Smith, and while Luke rings for pizza, Handy sits down next to her steals a quick hug.

 

When Handy arrives at the Noble-Mott household the next night, Sylvia answers the door, and as Handy suspected, she has an ulterior motive for inviting him. He is pushed back out of the doorway before he even manages to say hello, and dragged around the front of the house.

“All right then,“ she says, arms crossed. “What’s going on?”

“You invited me for dinner?” Handy tries.

“Don’t play silly buggers with me, young man, what are you doing with my daughter?”

"I, um--I--" Handy fidgets with the lapels on his jacket.

Sylvia tilts her head slightly, looking at him suddenly as if it‘s the first time she‘s seen him properly.

“You’re not him, are you? I’ve met The Doctor, and you’re not him. You’re different.”

“Um, no, I--”

“Who the hell are you?” Sylvia snaps, gradually increasing in volume. “What do you want from Donna? I will not see her hurt!”

“Sylvia, please,” Handy says, becoming distressed. “I’m him, I’m just--I’m a slightly different version--here, look.” He grabs her hand, and presses it to his chest. “A heartbeat. Just like yours. I should have had two of them, but on the night she saved the universe, the night of the metacrisis, I got the Doctor's brain, and I got Donna’s heart. She is, quite literally a part of me, and I would--I could never hurt her.”

Sylvia looks at him for a long moment and then takes her hand back. “Well, I guess you better come to dinner then, seeing as you‘re practically my grandson.”

“Oh, no, no. Don’t,” Handy says, scrunching up his face. “Don’t put it like that.”

It’s possible he could have imagined it, but Handy thinks he sees Sylvia actually smile.

Dinner is a much more relaxed affair, after all that. The food is fantastic, and Donna only ribs Handy a little bit when Wilfred offers him a beer and he (politely) turns it down. 

Later, Sylvia and Wilfred settle in the lounge with some cups of tea, and Handy helps Donna wash the dishes. Well, ostensibly, that’s what he’s doing, though he spends much more time sniffing and flicking the vanilla scented soap suds across the room than actually drying dishes. Donna attempts to ignore him for the most part, and only cracks when he get some of it gets stuck to his forehead. When he realises, Handy just rubs the bubbles into his hair. It will save on washing it for the next few days, he thinks. Sarah Jane was getting sick of him using all her shampoo anyway.

Donna laughs, and shakes her head. “You act like a complete martian sometimes.”

“I’m from New Zealand,” Handy says quickly. Possibly too quickly. “Originally.”

“Really?” Donna asks. “I worked with a girl from there once. Do you know any Maori?”

Handy laughs. “Oh Donna, hobbits aren‘t real.”

Donna stares at him for a moment before turning back to the sink.

“You should probably know, if we’re going to be friends, there’s something wrong with my head.”

Handy’s stomach drops; he knows what‘s coming, but he tries to keep his face impassive. “What‘s that?”

Donna turns back to face him again, her cheeks flushed red. “I can’t remember most of the last two years of my life. The doctors told me it’s some sort of amnesia, but they don’t know why it happened.” She shrugs, and her voice seems to quaver slightly. “I just think you should know, in case one day I wake up and don’t remember you anymore.”

It takes considerable effort for Handy to plaster a smile on his face, and he‘s not sure it‘s entirely convincing at that. ‘Well, you won’t forget me. How could you possibly?”

The sound of glass smashing interrupts them, followed shortly by a loud bang. Donna and Handy look at each other and then run out the front door, just in time to see a car speed off down the road.

‘What’s going on?” Sylvia yells from inside.

“Mum, Gramps, stay here!” Donna yells and then gestures at Handy to follow her. They only have to go a few houses down to the find the source of the ruckus, around which a small crowd is already forming. The front window of an old stone brick house is smashed in and black smoke is billowing from it.

“Mrs Fletcher,” Donna breathes, pushing past Handy and unlatching the gate.

Handy grabs her wrist. “Donna, careful, there could be structural damage.”

“Get off,” Donna growls. “She’s eighty-eight years old. If she hasn’t already had a heart attack from the shock, all that smoke is going to finish her off. I’m going in, if you want to help go home and get some blankets and water, and has anybody called an ambulance?”

“I have,” says a man with a beard, presumably another neighbour.

‘Well done,” Donna snaps, before turning and walking toward the door.

Handy hesitates and then compromises, calling the Nobles on his phone and asking them to bring blankets and water, whilst following Donna into the house. They check the obliterated front room, but there doesn’t seem to be any signs of life in there at all.

“What do you think it was?” Donna asks, putting her sleeve over her mouth in an attempt to stop breathing in the acrid smoke. “Molotov cocktail or something?”

“Yeah,“ Handy nods. “Or something.”

“Does this seem …Off to you?” Donna asks, frowning.

“Hm?”

“All this crime,” she clarifies. “Haven’t you noticed how it keeps on happening around us?”

Handy shrugs. “Happens to me all the time. Well, it did.” He catches the confused look on Donna’s face. “I mean, yes. Wait, no. I mean, it’s a coincidence. Probably.”

They reach Mrs Fletcher’s room and open the door. She is lying, unmoving on her bed.

Donna looks at him, wide-eyed. “Do you think she’s….?”

Handy moves in to get a closer look. She appears to be breathing just fine.

“I think she might be asleep,” he surmises finally.

Donna picks up a hearing aid from the bureau and holds it up for him to see. “Bloody hell, the old bat slept through it.” She looks down at the woman’s prone form. “What do we do now?” 

Handy can hear the wail of oncoming sirens. “I think we’re off the hook, it sounds like the cavalry is here.”

They have to wait around for a while after the paramedics have taken a (rather sleepy and understandably grumpy) Mrs Fletcher to the hospital to get checked over, so that the police can take their statements. No one is exactly sure what happened, though a couple of witnesses say they saw two very short men fleeing the scene. By the time Handy and Donna get back to her house, they are covered in black soot and well exhausted. Sylvia makes them both a cup of tea and insists Handy stay the night in their spare room.

Handy reaches into his pocket for his phone, so that he can call Sarah Jane and let her know, but it’s not there. It must have fallen out, he realises, when he was running around outside. He quickly excuses himself and leaves again, retracing his steps back to Mrs Fletcher’s house, which is eerily quiet now. Sure enough, he finds his phone, still working, on the front lawn. He puts it back in his pocket, jumps over the fence, only to run straight into someone, and fall backwards onto the footpath.

“Ow, what--” Handy looks up. “Oh, it’s you.“

The Doctor holds out a hand and helps Handy to his feet. “Alright, Handy?” he says with a smirk.

“It’s the one heart thing,” Handy replies, defensively. “It’s throwing my balance off--”

“Handy, you there?” says a voice from somewhere behind the Doctor, which is very, unmistakeably Donna’s. “Did you find it--?”

Handy looks at the Doctor, whose face is suddenly stricken, and makes a split decision, turning and jumping bodily back over the fence, and crouching down in the garden. He’s out of sight just in time for Donna to walk out of the darkness. 

“There you are,” Handy hears Donna say.

“Yes, hello Donna,” The Doctor responds. His voice sounds strained, nervous.

“Any luck?” she asks. Handy carefully peers through the cracks in the fence. The Doctor is facing in his direction but doesn’t notice, his eyes fixed on Donna.

“I um, no. Not yet,” the Doctor manages. “Still looking.”

“Want some help?” Donna asks. “Two pairs of eyes and all that.” She moves towards the fence where Handy is hiding, and the Doctor jumps forward in front of her. Handy thinks if it was possible for the Doctor to have heart attacks, he would have had one right then.

“I’m fine, really, by myself. You should go inside, it’s cold out here.”

“Well, all right then. ” Donna says slowly, “I’ll see you back home. Knock quietly, as Gramps has just gone to bed.” 

She starts to leave, but the Doctor turns around suddenly, grabs her arm and pulls Donna into a hug.

“Oi, what’s this for?” Donna says fondly, giving his back an awkward pat.

The Doctor doesn’t answer, he just buries his face against her shoulder and tightens his arms around her. It makes Handy almost uncomfortable to watch, like he’s walked in on something he shouldn’t have.

“What is it?” Donna asks, she sounds worried now. “Handy, what’s wrong?” 

The Doctor pulls away from her and shakes his head dismissively. “Nothing, I’m fine. You should go.” He sounds like he’s choking on the words. “I‘ll see you soon.”

Donna stands there, looking stunned for a moment, and then she shakes her head and walks back down the road. Handy waits until he knows she must be long gone before he gets up from behind the fence.

The Doctor looks up at him, dazed, like he’s just noticed he was there.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Handy says. “It’s not about me, you miss her.”

The Doctor gives him a tired, annoyed look. In the streetlight it looks like his eyes are shining slightly.

Handy points an accusing finger at him. “You’re bloody jealous!” He realises something and makes a face. “Oh my god, you love love her. That‘s, that’s-- no don’t tell me I don’t want to know.”

“Call me if she’s in danger,” the Doctor says dispassionately, and then he’s gone again. 

 

Handy wakes with a start, taking a moment to realise where he is; in the Noble’s spare bedroom. In Chiswick. There are flowers on the curtains. And his phone is on the bureau and ringing. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he recognises the voice.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“Jack,” Handy says. “This better be important, I was in bed.”

There is a long silence. 

“I was in bed, asleep,” Handy clarifies. ‘What do you want?”

“Well, you‘re no fun. But okay, I called because we’ve been getting odd transmission readings from London all week. Sarah Jane says she hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but I thought I better check all my bases.”

“There were lights,” Handy says slowly. “Lights in the sky earlier in the week, but just the one, and nothing else since.”

“Keep an eye out. Let me know if you find anything.”

Handy nods into the phone tiredly.

“And there’s always a job waiting for you in Cardiff if you want it,” Jack adds, and Handy’s pretty sure he’s serious, but somehow he manages to make it sound like the lead up to a rude joke.

“I’ll let you know,” Handy says. “Bye, Jack.”

When he’s hung up the phone, Handy lies back down on the bed and closes his eyes. After fifteen minutes he knows going back to sleep is simply not going to be an option, so he sits up and puts on the dressing gown Donna loaned him last night.

There is a chest in the corner of his room which, Handy finds when he opens it up, is full of old toys. Dolls, legos, train sets, makeup kits, picture books, and little gadgets that whistle when you twirl them. They must have been Donna’s, Handy realises with a grin, plucking out two particular pieces of material that take his fancy and setting them on top of the chest. 

When he can hear that people are awake, Handy leaves the guest room and heads for the living room. Donna and Wilf are on the couch watching some sort of news report.

“Morning,” Handy says sitting down next to them.

“Can you believe this?” Donna says, gesturing towards the television. Handy glances at the set, not sure what she’s asking. It’s an old television and everything, but in perfectly good working order as far as he can tell.

“The crime rate, it‘s gone nuts,” Donna explains. “They were just saying in the past week it has gone up eighty percent. Eighty percent! It’s unheard of.”

Handy stands up. “I’m going to investigate,” he says decisively.

“Come again?” Donna asks.

“Well, something isn’t right is it? So I’m just going to take a look around for clues an--.” Handy catches the look Wilf is giving him, and fiddles with the tie on his dressing gown. “Actually, I mean, no. No. Just having you on, there. It’d be really boring, probably, to do any of that. I might just go home and read a book and stay inside. Does it look like rain to you?”

Donna looks at him. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” say Handy and Wilf together.

“Oh, get off it you two,” Donna snaps scornfully, and then turns on Handy. “Out of the two of us, which one keeps falling on his face?”

“Now that’s not fair--”

“You need me,’ she says firmly. “Get dressed, we’re going.” 

Handy grins and darts back to the guest bedroom, unable to suppress a shiver of excitement. He and Donna again, against the bad guys. Just like old times.

 

Sylvia has the car, so they take the number ninety six bus into the city, riding alongside a group of schoolchildren chewing gum and talking so fast Handy can barely keep up. A young girl, maybe six or seven, turns around in her seat and hands him a strawberry flavoured lollipop. 

The streets seem eerily quiet for the middle of the city. When they’re off the bus, Handy remembers something and stops, retrieving the bits of red and purple material from his pocket and brandishing them at Donna. “I brought these from your house.”

Donna looks at what he‘s holding, and back at him. “Unless you’re planning to tie people up with those, I don’t want to hear another word.”

“Come on Donna, we’re vigilantes now, we need disguises. Do you want to be Donatello or Raphael? Well obviously you have to be Donatello, Donna. Donna, Donatello. Donna-tello.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,“ Donna says, and he hands her the purple mask which she looks at momentarily and then pitches over a fence. 

“I’m not sure that was necessary,” Handy says, pulling the red mask over his eyes and tying it at the back of his head. After Donna’s stopped laughing, they walk on.

They only have to walk a block or two to find trouble. A cry for help sends them barrelling down a narrow street, where an agitated old Italian man tells them in broken English that his shop’s just been robbed. Handy catches sight of a dark figure darting into a side street and grabs Donna’s hand, both of them taking chase. When they reach the end of the street Donna releases her grip, breathlessly telling him she’ll head him off in the other direction. Handy nods and goes straight ahead, chasing the, oddly short, thief down the alleyway. Handy is much faster and gaining on him easily.

When he’s within grasping distance, Handy realises he might have run into this situation a little prematurely. He’s got nothing to apprehend the man with, and nothing protect himself with - no screwdriver, no sword, no heavy objects. So really in the end, the only solution is to run straight at the man and jump on his back. Which he does, bringing them both toppling to the ground. 

Handy lands on his arm with a disconcerting and rather painful crunch, and his mask dislodges itself, which gives the thief a chance to roll out of his grip, get to his feet, and pull a gun out of his jacket. The man smiles and points the gun directly at Handy’s face. 

Handy panics and fumbles in his pockets for something, anything to defend himself with. He only finds the strawberry lollipop, so he throws it at the man. It hits him between the eyes and bounces off.

“What the hell was that?” the thief asks. His accent sounds strange, sort of... wrong.

“Sorry,” Handy says quickly. “Force of habit. Um, I see you have a gun there. I‘m not a big fan of guns, to be honest. Any chance you could just, put it back in your jacket?” 

The man just takes a step forward and switches off the safety. Handy scrunches his eyes shut, and thinks he probably could have handled this whole situation better, really.

There is a thud and Handy jumps. 

When he slowly opens his eyes, Donna a standing over the (now unconscious) man, holding a rather impressively large plank of wood. 

“I see you’re on the ground again, Raphael,” Donna says. She leans down and plucks the gun carefully out of the man’s hands and drops it into a bin.

“It was on purpose this time,” Handy insists.

Donna grins and helps pull him to his feet. “’Course it was. Never doubted you for a second.”

They both look down at the man’s unmoving form. “I guess we just wait til he wakes up and ask him some questions,” Handy says.

“We didn’t really think this part through, did we?” Donna says, finally.

“Nope.” Handy grins, pulling Donna into a tight hug. “Much more fun this way.”

“Ha!” Donna says, giving him a squeeze.

“Ha--oh. Oh,” Handy says, gaze falling on the man and realising something. “There appears to be green gloopy stuff coming out of our captive's head.”

“What?” Donna says, spinning around to look. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting!” 

Handy gets back down on his hands and knees for a closer look. The man is starting to regain consciousness.

“Careful,” Donna says. “It could be contagious.”

The man’s eyes are open now, and Handy puts a precautionary hand on his chest and leans down close.

“Who are you?”

The man lets out a string of erratic, clicking noises. It’s harder without the TARDIS to translate, but Handy can gather enough. Rvakkian race, from the Neesham galaxy.

“And why are you here, what do you want?”

Another burst of clicking, crunching noises.

Handy shakes his head in disbelief. “Peaceful assimilation? You’re terrifying them!”

“Handy, how are you doing that? Donna asks. She sounds confused and slightly frightened. “Handy?”

“Not now, Donna.”

“But that sound, he‘s not speaking words.”

“Yes, I know, just stand back for a minute, alright?” Handy turns back to him. “Tell me.”

“Oh dear,” Handy says when the Rvakkian does so, and everything begins to make sense. The rising crime rate, coming right after the lights in the sky. The Rvakkians, of all things, had actually been trying to fit in. Sometimes it was truly boggling to him how a civilization could conquer travel at the speed of light, but couldn’t understand a concept like a television program.

“That wasn’t official transmission, old boy,” he says, patting the Rvakkian on the shoulder. “The Bill is a television show, not a representation of traditional earth life.” He sighs and gestures for him to leave. “Go on, then. Tell your people to knock it off.”

The Rvakkian apologises and thanks him in quick succession, pressing something at the back of his skull and disappearing in a flash of light.

“Doctor…”

“It’s okay Donna, it’s over. It was just a misunderstanding, once he gets the message out they‘ll all stop and everything will be back to--” Handy stills, suddenly completely unable to move. “Did you just call me Doctor?”

When he turns around, he can see her face is pale with shock. “I remember.”

“You remember what?” Handy garbles, stupidly.

“That I left the iron on,” Donna snaps sarcastically. “What do you think, you great fucking space moron--” She sucks in a harsh breath and puts a hand to the side of her head, then looks back up at him, expression suddenly very, very scared. “Tell Mum and Gramps I love them. And tell the Doctor -- the other Doctor that-- Ow, ow, Oh god, that hurts. On second thought, don’t tell him anything, just slap him, he deserves it--”

“No, Donna!” Handy runs to her side, grabbing hold of her as her legs fold under her and she slides to the ground. “Donna, no. Come here. I‘ll get help--”

“Couldn’t fix it before,” Donna mutters, grimacing.

“No, don’t,” Handy says, panicked, tears starting to well up in his eyes. He grabs inside his jacket for his mobile phone, but it keeps slipping out of his reach. “Don’t go. You can’t.”

“You called yourself Handy Spaceman,” Donna says fondly, her eyes starting to glaze over. “Not exactly subtle, are you?”

“I won’t let you die,” Handy says, desperately. “I need you to stay. You made me, you‘re part of me. We’re part of each other.” He looks at his left hand, and something like an idea flares in the back of his head. It’s a long shot, and he’s not sure this body can take it, but he has to try. Handy rearranges his grip on her and gently lies her on the ground, so that he‘s leaning over her. “Donna, listen, I’m the reason that consciousness in your head, I can take it away. I must be able to, but not by myself. You have to help me take it.”

Donna looks, focuses her gaze on him, confused, but before she can say anything else, Handy’s got his shaking hands on her face, fingers resting lightly on her temples. He closes his eyes, trying to calm down so he can think clearly, concentrating everything on the right points in her mind. When he opens his eyes again his hands are glowing softly.

Yes.

“Now, Donna!” he yells, shutting his eyes tight and pulling back as forcefully as he can manage. For a moment there is nothing, and then a sudden flash of white hot pain that burns behind his eyes. 

Then darkness.

 

When he wakes again, Donna is leaning over him. She looks worried and pale, but altogether alive.

“Alright?” Handy croaks, his throat dry.

“Your heart stopped, you bastard!” Donna says poking him forcefully in the chest. “Your! One! Heart! You’re lucky they made me do that first aid course at Waltons, or else, or else--”

“You saved me?” Handy asks, sitting up slowly. His head feels crackly and electric.

Donna shrugs. “Well, you know, it seemed only fair to return the favour.”

Handy shuffles closer to her and nudges her with his shoulder. “You’re brilliant, you are.”

“Oh, shut it,” Donna says, but she is smiling despite herself. “What say we go find the Doctor before he finds out I’m better and mess with his head a bit?”

“Now, that’s not very nice.”

Handy and Donna look up. The Doctor is walking down the cobbled side street toward them, and despite his scolding tone, he's smiling so hard it looks ready to break his face.

Donna gets to her feet and puts her hand on her hips. “Been standing there watching us do all the work have you, Spaceman?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer; instead running the last few meters to her and scooping her up in an emphatic hug. Donna hugs him back, and after a moment he turns his head and whispers something against her ear.

“Yeah, well, don’t do it again,” Donna responds, a stray tear running down her face. She wipes it away quickly.

The Doctor fidgets, smoothes back Donna’s hair, and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. His mouth lingers there against her skin, for a long moment, like he’s still trying to catch his breath. Donna rubs his arm gently; reassuringly.

It’s okay, Handy wants to tell him. It’s over. No qualifiers. Everybody lives. 

But Handy laughs instead. He’s not sure why. It’s probably some sort of nervous reflex because his brain is still overheated from the shock.

Donna and the Doctor both turn to look at him.

“Right… I, um… good job Handy,” the Doctor says, fidgeting slightly. 

Donna nods. “Sort of the understatement of the year, really,” 

“Sort of,” the Doctor concedes. He smiles at Handy, and it’s real and grateful and Handy knows because he feels it too. 

The Doctor reaches out and takes Donna’s hand, threading his fingers through hers. Handy gets to his feet, walks over to them, and takes Donna’s other hand. She looks at them both, and smiles, eyes shining, happier than he‘s ever seen her. He and the Doctor are wearing similar expressions, and it occurs to Handy how silly they must look, standing there in the street grinning stupidly at each other. All thing considered, he doesn’t care very much.

“Onwards?” Donna asks.

“Onwards,” say Handy and the Doctor together.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 2009-01-03 at doctor-donna.livejournal.com


End file.
